


Monster High: The Greatest Showman

by caelestislux



Category: Monster High, The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Circus, Deception, Discrimination, F/M, Gen, Inspired by The Greatest Showman (2017), Light Angst, Music, Running Away, Some characters are OOC, Songs, The Greatest Showman (2017) AU, The Greatest Showman (2017) References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 15,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25177885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caelestislux/pseuds/caelestislux
Summary: Holt Hyde has a dream, and it's to open up his newly-acquired museum to the public and strike it rich. Unfortunately, no one is willing to come unless he's got something interesting, something to amaze his audience. And finding "freaks" might just be the way to do it. (Monster High Greatest Showman AU)
Relationships: Abbey Bominable & Heath Burns, Abbey Bominable & Original Character(s), Abbey Bominable/Heath Burns, Holt Hyde & Heath Burns, Holt Hyde & Jackson Jekyll, Holt Hyde & Operetta, Holt Hyde/Operetta (one-sided), Jackson Jekyll & Heath Burns
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	1. The Greatest Show

**Author's Note:**

> This is crossposted from FF.net, though it was written quite a while ago so it may not be up to par with my current writing style. Sorry in advance! I just had a lot of fun writing it back in 2018 and wanted to post it here :) Hopefully you enjoy!

Everything was dark.

Holt Hyde faced the crowd of people, barely able to see their faces through the dark. Adjusting his elaborate red jacket, he stood under the seats, waiting . . . watching . . . 

A spotlight flickered on, throwing Holt’s spot into shadow and illuminating the audience's faces. The music grew in volume, which prompted the audience to clap. They knew it was time for the show, time for the performers to begin their acts, now all they needed was the man in charge. And he was ready.

Holt spoke from the darkness, barely a whisper, “Ladies and gents, this is the moment you've waited for.”

A cheer rang up from the small building. If only Jackson could see Holt now, he would be so proud. All the money that this show alone would bring . . . they wouldn’t need anything for years to come.

Minutes later, he stepped out into the ring, the light reflecting off the buttons on his jacket. The show burst into life around him, performers and all sorts each doing something different. Each doing their special talent in elaborate costumes.

The audience applauded, their eyes fixed upon the show and Holt himself. In fact, they were utterly entranced by the way he led his performers. He was the showman, running the greatest show ever.

Everything began to fade . . .

And then he wasn’t an adult running the greatest show imaginable, but a child, eyes transfixed on a red jacket in a store window. It was obviously meant for someone far richer than him, but he imagined it was tailor-made made for him, with a seamstress working hard to make an outfit just so he could run his show.

“Come on, Holt.” his mom prompted, drawing the boy’s attention away from the window display. “We have to get home. It’s almost morning.”

She coughed several times, each one increasing Holt’s worry. She was sick, everyone in the family knew that, but she had been sick for weeks now. And when people got sick for weeks, they usually didn’t recover. Even someone as young as Holt knew that.

“Mom?” Holt asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“I’m okay, honey. It’s just a cough.” 

“But—” He paused, watching streaks of pink shoot through the dark sky. It was almost daytime, and daytime came with turning into Jackson. If he was going to say anything, it would have to be fast. “But what about your sewing?”

A small smile crossed Jane Jekyll’s face. She bent down to his level and placed her hands on his shoulder, her grip making him relax, if only slightly. “Don’t worry about me, sweetie. We’re going to be alright.”

“Okay Mom.” he agreed, letting his attention drift back to the jacket. Someday, he promised himself. Someday he would run his own show. 

Just like he dreamed.


	2. Running Away

Holt woke up to voices echoing down his hallway. Rubbing his eyes, he climbed out of bed, his feet hitting the cold floor, which seemed to shock him fully awake. Good. He hadn’t felt awake for days. 

Not since his mother died.

He hadn’t done much of anything since it happened, as he made a point to be asleep every time he was in control. Meaning that Jackson had to deal with all the sadness, the pain . . . and it wasn’t exactly keeping the two of them on good terms. 

The voice of his father streamed through the room, “. . . Jackson and Holt . . .”

Holt glanced up at his name. He followed the sound down the hall, tiptoeing in case the information wasn’t for him, and hid behind the door frame. There his father stood, standing in the living room and facing Mr. and Mrs. Burns, his posture tense. Even young Holt could tell he was furious.

“I’m not keeping them here.” Mr. Jekyll snapped, eyes narrowed. “Not with their _condition_. I’ve put up with it for seven years, but without Jane, I can’t have them in my house.”

“Well, it's not like we can keep them, either.” Mrs. Burns retorted. “Besides, you’re the father.”

“It’s not going to happen. Can you imagine what would happen if someone found out? If they learned that I’m the father of _a shapeshifting freak_? No one would associate with me anymore, especially if they also happened to learn about Jane.” 

Holt recoiled, wincing. 

This wasn’t new, as it was pretty common for their father to pretend he wasn’t related to them. Still, his mom had always said “dual nature” to refer to their situation, but they had never been called a _freak_ before. And the worst part . . .

Did his father even want him anymore?

He wasn't counting on it.

“No matter.” Mr. Jekyll continued, his voice tight. “I'm not staying with this child, not if it means risking my place, _my standing,_ in society!”

“Well, you can't just leave them with nothing.” Mr. Burns glanced over at his wife, who gave a nod to agree.

“Ashton, it's not your business what I do with my own child. Now, I'm going to find some sort of factory where they can work, as those take all _sorts_ of children, even at a young age. They wouldn't get paid or anything, but they would get food, and that's good enough.”

Holt covered his own mouth to keep from making any sound. No, he and Jackson couldn't work at a _factory_. His mom had always said, those places were dangerous and many kids got hurt there. He had never dreamed that was somewhere he could end up. 

But here he was.

Well, if their father didn't want them, there was nothing they could do except leave. And not at a factory where they would work for no money.

“Holt!” Mr. Jekyll called out, forcing Holt to reveal himself from his hiding spot. He seemed too distracted to care, however. “Pack your things, we're leaving.”

Without so much as a reply, Holt promptly turned around and headed back to his room. An idea was materializing in his mind, he would just have to work out the details. But one thing he knew for a fact, he and Jackson were not going to the factory.

And as soon as his little bag was packed, him and Mr. Jekyll set off to the city. Clouds began to form in the morning sky, signalling that the beginning of Jackson's turn was approaching. Good, Holt had enough disappointment for one night.

The nearest factory came into view. Time for his plan. 

Without a second thought, Holt tore away from his father. He ran, heart pounding. Mr. Jekyll cried out, but Holt didn't slow down, heading straight toward the nearby forest grove. Even if there was nothing for him there, he would figure it all out when he got there.

And he didn't look back.

———

Hours later, Holt woke up on a pile of leaves, right in the middle of the forest. Jackson had apparently fallen asleep soon after he took control, but far enough away from the city that all Holt could see was trees. 

They had done it. They had really run away. And they had no one to help them, no one to save them if they needed it.

Wait. Jackson _had_ found something.

Just a few steps away from him was a run-down mansion in the woods, where it appeared that no one had lived for decades. A good house for someone with money, no. But him and Jackson would take what they could get.

He carefully crawled over the rubble in front of the door, taking care to avoid any spots that seemed relatively unstable. The splintered wood cut his leg, but he ignored it, his excitement taking over. If this would actually work as a capable shelter, they wouldn’t have to sleep on benches anymore.

He peered inside the broken, ornate doorway. Spiderwebs, overgrown plants, and cracked marble filled the foyer, but it didn’t matter so long as the roof was whole, which it was. This made it dark, but, Holt reasoned, it would be better in the daytime. Not that he really knew what daytime was like or would get to enjoy it, but he did know that Jackson would much prefer the light. 

Sitting in a pile of junk was a lantern-esque object, tiny holes covering the sides of it. Holt pulled a rolled up bit of paper out of his pocket, lit it with his fire, and placed it underneath the lantern. Immediately, the room was speckled with dots of light.

Beautiful.

Yeah, they could definitely live here. At least, for now.

Holt took out a charcoal stick from his other pocket and carefully wrote “Holt Hyde” and “Jackson Jekyll” on the wall, attempting to mark it as their territory. 

It didn’t really make a difference, it just felt final. 


	3. A Million Dreams

May 30th, 1886. Holt and Jackson were sixteen years old now, and they still “lived” in the abandoned mansion, only venturing out for food or other supplies. 

Except now, as Jackson gazed at the wall where Holt had marked their names, the wall was covered in notes, messages, and a couple drawings from the two of them. Just their special way of communication. It could be seen how Holt's and his handwriting gradually looked less like scribbles and more like an adult’s lettering as time went on.

Ever since their trigger had changed from the day/night cycle, it was easier to communicate via notes. Now it was music, and the old house had a music player that came in handy for Holt to be in control when he wanted to. Due to the nature of their trigger, he wouldn’t transform the second the music shut off, but after awhile, it would happen, in all of its fiery glory. And vice versa.

A new note caught Jackson's attention, the ink still fresh. It read: “ _Hey Jackson! Your present is underneath our pillow. -H.H._ ” 

Unable to resist his curiosity, Jackson immediately lifted his ratty pillow to reveal an envelope and a note. He opened the envelope and shook it, making a packet of money and a slip of paper drop out. 

His heart skipped a beat. 

It was a boat ticket to America and $42, cash. He knew Holt had been a street musician for a while, playing day and night to make money, but he never knew it was _this much_ . . . and he'd always assumed that was money for food. 

Jackson moved on from the envelope to read the note, which said: “ _We’re going to America! I know it’s a big change from what we're used to, but we’ve got some money to get started, and trust me, we’re gonna be great. Happy birthday Jax! -H.H._ ”

Jackson froze, letting the papers fall out of his hands. They were going to _America_ , the grand place where everyone and anyone could succeed. Holt must’ve been planning this for years, secretly. Well, he had known Holt’s dream was to be accepted and well-liked, but he always thought it was a casual daydream, nothing to the extent of actually following through on it. Not that he was complaining, chances were that America would be much better than London, wherever in America they were able to find a home.

Now one of Holt’s oldest writings on the wall, some song lyrics, made sense:

“ _Every night I lie in bed_

_The brightest colors fill my head_

_A million dreams are keeping me awake_

_I think of what the world could be_

_A vision of the one I see_

_A million dreams is all it's gonna take_

_A million dreams for the world we're gonna make._ ”

Jackson completely understood now. He just hoped Holt was right.

———

Three years later, Holt walked into the bank, attempting to look as confident as he felt. In one hand he clutched a notice of a fleet of ships in the South China Sea. All sunk now, according to his ex-boss, but the bank didn’t know that. In his other hand was a note from Jackson, stating his approval for a loan. Even if it was slightly begrudgingly, it was still permission.

He had to have this money. He just had to. There’s wasn’t much else he could do, having just been fired from his only job. It hadn’t paid much, but at least it had let him keep his house, if you could call it that. More like a tiny apartment that leaked when it rained.

The banker paused upon hearing his request for a loan. “I don't think so, Hyde.”

“C’mon, I promise I'll be able to pay it back! I just have to get the money first.”

“This is an incredibly large amount of money.” the banker told him, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “And I need permission from the other holder of this account.”

“I have it.” Holt handed him Jackson’s note, making sure to point out where it was signed “Jackson Jekyll” in his alter ego’s signature. The bank prefered it when the other account holders came in themselves, but that was highly impossible in Holt and Jackson's situation. Not even the bank knew of their dual nature, and was how it was going to stay.

The banker sighed. “I suppose that’s enough. I’m going to need some sort of collateral for a loan this large, though.”

Holt had anticipated this. Time for his backup plan.

“How ‘bout a bunch of ships in the South China Sea? It's a whole fleet! That’s gotta be enough, right?”

Within minutes, he had all the money he needed. 

And by the next day, “Hyde’s American Museum” was all his. Well, his and Jackson’s, but this wasn’t Jackson’s dream. Holt was the one in charge of this whole operation, and Jackson was just a slightly obnoxious co-manager.

“Finally!” Holt announced aloud in the street, ignoring the stares he received from onlookers. No, his focus was only on his brand new museum, and nothing else mattered. “Just you wait, Jax, we're gonna be rich and famous!”

Only one problem. No one cared.

For some reason, the wax figures inside didn’t attract anyone at all. Anyone who got one of his specially-designed flyers just tossed it. And he had worked hard on those, too!

On the third day of no business, Holt practically slammed his door open, noticing the water dripping from the ceiling again. He couldn’t afford a repairman, so it leaked whenever the upstairs neighbors used water. All he could do was place a bucket underneath the dripping water, hoping to stop it for the time being.

But the water wasn’t the only thing he noticed.

A note from Jackson sat on their worn kitchen table. It must’ve been from that morning, as Holt had been in control all day. Usually, notes from Jackson were about various things that needed fixing or amendments to their grocery lists. But not this time.

Instead, the note was sympathetic, about the situation with his museum. It read: “ _I know you want to entertain people, but you can do better. Try out one of your crazy ideas. You know, the ones I usually hate. I just don’t want us to be broke. -J.J_.”

A crazy idea? Something Jackson usually hated? 

Something crossed Holt's mind, only briefly, but enough to make him consider it. When he was leaving the bank, he happened to see a ghoul heading in the opposite direction. Something about her caught his eye, and one look at her confirmed it: she had a beard.

If he could get her and maybe some other _odd_ people to showcase somehow . . . people might actually pay to come inside his museum. But he would have to play his cards right. Maybe they could do tricks or something, anything that would be more entertaining than wax figures.

Of course it wouldn’t be easy. But Holt was willing to try.

Even if everyone thought he was crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> $42 cash is like $1.2k in 1886 lmao


	4. Come Alive

“Next!” Holt called out, checking off another spot on his list. He had just hired Toralei, a ghoul who looked and acted like a cat, and she was the tenth “freak” hired that day. There were just _so many_ unusual people that needed a place in the world, needed a job where they felt somewhat normal, needed a roof over their head without being judged . . . 

. . . a lot like him.

Not that he would ever reveal his dual nature to anyone else. He’d had enough trouble dealing with that already. Vague memories of being cast out filled his head, but he was able to shake that away before the next duo came in.

Two yetis, a girl and a boy, sat down on the chairs in front of him. At the sight of them, Holt cocked his head, confused. They looked normal enough, so what were they here for? There was the stigma of yetis being in the city and not in their native Himalayan climate, but if they were here because of that, there wasn't much he could work with.

“Name is Abbey Bominable. Brother is Iceic Bominable.” the girl introduced them, flicking a strand of her long hair behind her ear as she spoke.

“And what can you do?”

“Trapeze act. But no one will come see us. We are not belonging here.”

A grin spread over Holt’s face. “Oh yes you do. Trust me, Abbey, I’ll make sure they come.”

By the next day, he had flyers and poster printed of each “freak” that was going to be in his show. Titles proudly proclaimed exactly what they all could do, in eye-catching colors and unique fonts. No one would be able to miss them.

Not to mention the huge posters rolled down the sides of Hyde’s American Museum that announced the show and the “freaks” inside of it. 

It was like his dream was finally coming true.

There was just something so appealing about fame and fortune, and above all, being able to give people that “wow” factor. Maybe It wasn't something Jackson cared highly about, he had made that quite clear, but it was Holt's biggest dream. He wasn’t even sure what to call this type of “show”, but somehow, it was going to impress everyone. He just knew it.

And if it didn’t . . . he and Jackson would be ruined.

———

Evening. Time for their first show.

Everyone had seen the posters and flyers, Holt just knew it. They pointed, whether from surprise or shock, he didn’t know, and chattered on about how “weird” or “wrong” it was to work with “freaks”. He’d heard all the lines; everyone seemed kind of opposed to the show, but still mildly interested. Their interest was all he needed.

Now he just had to wait for people to start coming.

Jackson hasn't been too sure of the plan, saying that it wouldn't work, no one would care, it wouldn't make enough money to pay for anything, blah blah blah.

Whatever, Jackson. Lots of people would come. And they'd love it.

And he wasn’t entirely wrong. Slowly and surely, people started trickling into Hyde’s American Museum. It wasn’t much, only a couple groups to start with, but at least it was something. It wouldn’t be enough to end his money issues, though.

And those who were arriving weren't exactly positive. As he waited for the show to start, Holt caught a a bit of a conversation from a couple, the man saying “. . . not sure if this Hyde guy is too ambitious, or just completely crazy . . .”

Before his temper got the best of him, Holt moved away from the people trickling in. He didn’t need to get upset yet. 

It was fine. After all, if he could really “wow” this audience, they would tell their friends, and they’d tell people they knew, and it would become _super_ popular. Plus, there was an actual newspaper critic there, and there was no way a show as great as his was going to be would get a negative review.

“Well Jackson, my ‘crazy idea’ is starting to work out.” Holt muttered, staring at the people streaming through the doorway. “So I was right, as usual. But it was _kind of_ your idea, so . . . thanks.” He paused. “As if you’re ever going to hear this. I should write a note or something. I probably won’t, though.”

“Hyde! It’s showtime.” someone hissed. Holt didn’t recognize her, but he instead took note of her badge, proclaiming that she was the critic, Spectra Vondergeist: a ghost ghoul with dark purple hair and a dress that matched. For some reason, Holt didn’t especially like the looks of her right away, but he was willing to fake it for a good review.

“You, ma'am, are going to _love_ it.” Holt gushed, leading the critic inside the building.

“I guess we'll have to see.”

“Oh, you’ll see, alright!” Holt bowed deeply before heading backstage to help get the others ready for the show. 

Right away, he could tell that Abbey and Iceic had already changed into their trapeze outfits, flexible, one-piece costumes complete with body glitter and sequins. 

“Working for you?” Holt asked, barely able to contain his grin. They looked even better than he had dreamed!

Exchanging a glance with her brother, Abbey politely responded, “Yes, is fine. Thank you.”

Holt gave them a thumbs up before checking on Clawdeen, Clawd, Toralei, and the host of other “freaks” who were nearly ready; just a few minor adjustments to their costumes and props were necessary. 

Ten seconds until the show started.

Holt switched his faded brown coat for a bright red coat with gold and silver trim, complete with fire detailing along the edges, very much like the one he had desired as a child. After the jacket came his top hat, followed by a black and silver cane. 

Holt glanced in the mirror. Perfect. He looked like a real showman, just as he had always wanted.

Three . . . two . . . one.

Showtime.

———

“That was awesome!” Holt cried, entering the backstage area the day after the first show. The thunderous applause of the crowd still echoed in his ears. “I just gotta—I’m in awe. You guys did such a great job. And it looked like people really liked it.”

“Not everyone.” Clawdeen offered, paging through a newspaper idly. “That critic you got? Yeah, it wasn’t her thing.”

Holt took the newspaper from her hands, noticing the profile picture of Spectra next to an article about his show. “Uh, this is pretty bad. Unless . . . maybe a negative review is gonna attract more people. That happens sometimes.”

“Don’t count on it, Hyde.” Clawdeen retorted, smoothing back her fur.

Ignoring her, Holt glanced over Spectra’s review again. “She called the show ‘a circus of humbug’? Ooh, I like ‘circus’. Hmm. How does ‘Hyde’s Circus’ sound?”

“Sounds fine.” Abbey spoke up. “Are you asking brother, Jackson?”

“Huh?”

Abbey pointed to a large portrait frame hanging on the wall, right in the middle of various props. Inside the frame was room for two pictures, one headshot of Holt and one of Jackson. 

Right. He'd forgotten about the facade.

Holt had told everyone else that Jackson was his ‘brother’ and just didn’t come to the shows or practice often. That way, if Jackson happened to be there once when Holt wasn’t, it would be relatively easy to explain when he took control again. And keeping up the lie should be easy, that is to say, at least easier than trying to make it in the world as a “freak”.

Holt settled on top of a table and shrugged, attempting to look casual. “Nah, he’s not around today. Usually isn’t. And he won’t mind a name switch.”

“I like Hyde’s Circus, then.” Twyla agreed.

“Yeah?” Holt asked, his face lighting up. At her nod, he continued. “That's the name we're going with, then. And we got a pretty big audience, like I said, which is good. The only problem is that it’s mostly the poorer people who came. Not that I’ve gotta problem with poor people, I just need to find some sort of way to make the rich people wanna see my show—ah, _circus_.”

“You think of that.” Abbey said, standing up. “We are going home until show tomorrow. Yes, Iceic?”

Her brother nodded and followed her out. Almost all at once, the circus performers left the building, heading back to their own less-than-ideal homes. Holt knew exactly what that was like, and he felt a pang of guilt, even though he knew his house was just as bad or even _worse_ than some of theirs. Besides, the circus was just starting; they would all get money soon.

“Freaks!” someone cried from outside, followed by scuffling noises. “Freaks of nature!”

Holt’s head shot up. No one talked to his performers like that.

Outside, the scene was chaos. A mob of people, armed with lanterns and staffs, had formed a ring around the circus performers, shoving them and shouting how they were an abomination. No one could leave, and every one of the performers looked highly uncomfortable at being heckled.

“That’s enough.” Holt snapped, standing in the doorway and holding nothing but his cane. If it came down it, he could somehow use it as a form of attack.

“They ain’t right!” one of the men shouted, getting in Holt’s face. “They’re different than us normal folks! They shouldn’t be allowed to walk ‘round us!”

Rage took over. Holt narrowed his eyes at the man, balling up his fists, his hair flaming wildly in anger. “Shut up! Don’t you got better things to do than bother me and my performers? Get out of here _now_!” 

The mob dispersed, muttering insults and swearing under their breaths. The conflict gone, Holt took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. It was fine. No one got hurt. 

When he looked up, the other circus performers were staring at him with a mixture of shock and awe.

“Don’t you guys have to get home?” Holt asked, trying to keep the strain out of his voice. “You’re good to go. See ya tomorrow.”

Slowly but surely, the others left, though not without glancing back a couple times. They hadn’t seen him get so _angry_ before, and he knew he went too far a lot, especially when it came to protecting himself and Jackson. 

This time, though, he hardly felt like he was in the wrong. His performers hadn’t been doing anything to bother the mob, and were heckled and insulted anyway. Just because they were different.

It wasn’t fair.


	5. The Other Side

Several people walked into the building, each one making Holt more nervous. And anxiety was practically an unknown emotion to him, as Jackson tended to take most of that. But this time, it was so important that he couldn’t help it.

He had sent a letter to his rich cousin, Heath Burns, who had agreed to talk with him at a local diner. Not for any particular purpose, just because they hadn’t seen each other in what felt like forever. Heath hadn’t really been allowed to talk to Jackson or Holt after it had been revealed that they were two people; Holt didn't really get it then, but now he knew exactly why—it was because of their dual nature. But for some reason, maybe now that Holt was kind of famous, Heath agreed to meet up.

A couple people later, in walked a fire elemental who looked similar to Holt, their only differences being their skin color and the fact that Heath looked cleaner. He wore a fancy suit and perfectly shined shoes, a top hat obscuring his fiery hair. He glanced around, obviously looking for Holt, with a slightly uncomfortable expression on his face. Holt stood, nodding to let Heath know where to sit.

Heath caught on, and sat down across from Holt, taking in his cousin’s flamboyant attire. “So you’re my cousin? I’m sorry, I don’t really remember you.”

“Uh huh. I’m Holt Hyde. You might know me from my circus? We’ve had several shows now—”

“I know your circus.” Heath interrupted, taking off his hat to expose his bright red hair. “You told me all about that in your letter. You’ve got a pretty good idea with that circus, I’m gonna say.”

“Hey, thanks! You’ve seen it?”

“No, no. If I went, my parents would . . . let’s just say it would be pretty bad. If they even knew I was _talking_ to you, they would be furious. Speaking of which, how’s your . . . situation?”

“My what? Oh, me and Jackson being the same person. We’re fine. Haven’t told anyone in the circus yet, probably won’t.” Holt lowered his voice, staring directly at his cousin. “I know what happens when someone finds out.”

Heath bit his lip. “It wasn’t my choice to stop talking to y—”

“I know. Don’t worry about it. I’m just stoked that we can talk now. Whatever happened with my dad?”

“Ah, he disowned you two, especially since you ran away. Now, we're not even supposed to _talk_ about you, much less try to make contact. I'm sorry.”

 _Disowned?_ That was a bit more than Holt had anticipated. Still, he wasn't too upset about it. Mr. Jekyll had already made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with them, and this was just the final nail on the casket.

Holt waved his concern away. “Don't worry about it; I pretty much guessed that would happen. How about you? How’s your life going?”

“Oh, y’know.” Heath said, clearly trying to make his tone lighthearted. “It’s been alright. A lot of boring parties and events. Hopefully I can do something a bit more fun soon.”

“A bit more fun? In that case . . .” Holt paused. There was an idea he had, tucked in the back of his mind ever since he sent the letter. If it succeeded, it would solve their problem of only poor people coming to the circus. Should he ask? It was likely Heath would say no, but it never hurt to try. “How would you feel about joining my circus?”

Heath stared at him, his face twisting into an expression of surprise. “Join your what?”

“Keep up, Heath. I'm talking about my circus, the show I'm running. You wanna join?”

Heath stared at the ground, obviously trying not to meet Holt’s eyes. “No, you know I can’t.” 

Of course Holt knew. 

But he wasn't about to take “no” for an answer, especially where the fate of his show was concerned.

“C’mon Heath! You’ll get to do things besides being uptight and perfect all the time! You can live how you want! Plus, I know you’ll love it! Don’t you want to see the other side of life?”

Heath shook his head, biting his lip. “Yeah, but I’m good. I'll admit, your show is pretty cool, but I don’t mind my life. It's great, honestly, I've got all I could ever want. Really, I don’t _need_ to see the other side.”

That wasn't what he really thought; Holt just knew it. But as long as Heath was still hung up on Holt’s ostracism from the family, he would never agree. “But is this _really_ how you want to live? Just doing nothing exciting or fun? You were just complaining about that, and I can be the one who changes your so-called _boring_ life!”

“But . . . I can’t do anything with _you._ ” Heath dropped his voice to a whisper, his uncertain expression not matching his insistent tone. “You know why, right? No offense, but you're kind of the ‘weird member’ of the family. Just being near you will make everyone will gossip about me, including my parents, and I don’t want that. I promise it’s nothing against you; I just can’t do that to myself.”

“I get it, I’m the family outcast. But if you come with me you’ll finally get to enjoy yourself! Forget living among the rich people who are just gonna gossip about you when you’re not there, and come with me and join my circus. That sounds like a pretty good deal, huh?”

Heath paused, considering this for a minute. The silence in the room was almost deafening. Finally, he spoke up hesitantly, “I guess that’s a good deal. But if I go with you, I won’t have as much money as I would otherwise, so you’re paying me.”

“Duh, of course. You thought I wasn’t gonna? How’s seven percent?”

Heath laughed. “Holt, I wasn't born this morning. No way. I’ll take eighteen percent.”

“Oh yeah, why don’t I just give you everything I make?” Holt retorted, crossing his arms. “Remember: you’re rich and I’ve got _nothing_.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Fifteen then.”

“Hmm, no. I’ll do eight.”

“Twelve.”

“ _Maybe_ nine.”

“Ten.”

Silence filled the room.

Holt nodded, a grin spreading over his face. “Welcome to my circus.”

———

“Heath, you get to sit with me for this show.” Holt announced, his voice full of pride. “Best seat in the house.”

“Thanks.” Heath managed, struggling to keep up with his energetic cousin. Holt led him up to a small balcony that overlooked the whole circus. Holt was right; it really was the best seat.

The show had already begun, but Holt didn't seem to mind. In fact, judging by the grin on his face, Heath wondered if he was just thrilled for them to be together.

Several portraits on the wall behind them caught Heath's eye. He paused at the large picture frame of his cousins. He hadn’t seen Jackson before, as far as he could remember, but both of them looked so professional and adult. And they weren’t allowed in the family? Heath personally knew their father from family gatherings, and he was so close to sending him an angrily-worded telegraph.

Holt stopped, noticing Heath staring at his portrait. “Hmm. You’re gonna have to talk to Jax at some point, ‘cause this is kinda his show too. And yes, that’s him and me. Did you see the other one?”

“No?”

Holt motioned to a picture underneath the first. It proudly showed the entire circus, standing outside Hyde’s American Museum. They did look like they were having fun, Heath had to admit. “It was in the newspaper. Y’know, with the review that called my incredible show a ‘circus of humbug’.”

“Oh yeah, I knew I recognized it! Are you upset about that review?”

“Nah! Why do you think I call it a circus now? And as for the humbug part . . .” Holt pulled a paper crown out from a pile of props on the ground. As he slipped it on over his top hat, Heath could clearly tell that it stated ‘Prince of Humbug’ across the side. 

He began to laugh, covering it up with his hand. Little things like this demonstrated perfectly what Holt's personality was like, and Heath more than enjoyed his upbeat, outgoing cousin. Not that his parents would enjoy that much.

Heath turned back toward the circus, only to find his breath caught in his throat when he locked eyes with a ghoul. 

She was mid-swing on her trapeze, seemingly stopping directly in front of his face. At the position she was in, he was able to take in her entire appearance, from her ice-blue skin, tusks, and striking purple eyes. He froze, unable to react or speak.

Then the moment ended and she swung away.

After the circus performance, Heath trailed after Holt, who was congratulating the performers and speaking to audience members and critics alike. The fire elemental hadn’t been paying attention, but he felt his breathe catch again when Holt approached the two yeti trapeze artists.

“Hey! Iceic, Abbey, this is my cousin Heath.” Holt announced.

Abbey regarded him coldly. “Hi. What act you have?”

The way she was staring at him made Heath nearly forget where he was. Her gaze was piercing, almost as if she was judging him. “I-I don’t have one.” he stammered.

“Everyone has act.” Abbey shook her head disapprovingly and walked off. Heath found himself looking after her, although he wasn’t exactly sure why.

Holt shrugged. “I dunno. You don’t need an act; you’re like, my partner. Besides Jackson, who’s not really my partner anyway, since he’s not doing anything. So yeah, you get to help me out and stuff.”

“Smokin’!” Heath exclaimed, forgetting about Abbey for a second. 

“Now _that’s_ the enthusiasm I like to hear!” Holt grinned, a smile that was usually on his face, making Heath wonder once again why anyone could reject him. “C’mon, I gotta go show you the ropes!”

He turned to follow suit, but Iceic stood in his way, staring down at him with a slightly menacing glare. Weird. In return, Heath gave a faint smile and walked around the yeti, trailing after his upbeat cousin who was currently chatting excitedly with one of his performers.

He had to admit, this was _way_ better than any extravagant party he had gone to.


	6. England

“Well, I have news.” Heath announced. Everyone looked up, taking a pause from cleaning up after a show. “I just received word that the queen of England wants us to put on a performance for her.”

Holt froze, nearly dropping his cane. The expression on his face was unlike anything Heath had ever seen before. “You what?”

“Keep up, Hyde.” Heath said, mimicking what Holt had said when they first met, coupled with a playful smile. “We’re going to England, and you’re going to put on a show specifically for the queen.”

The silence in the room was deafening.

“Are we _all_ invited?” Abbey asked. 

Heath froze, providing a couple awkward seconds with the two of them just staring at each other. Finally, he spoke, his voice no more than a whisper. “Either we’re all going or none of us are.”

Abbey nodded, her lips forming a small smile. “Sounds fun, Heath Burns.”

“We’re going to England to perform for the queen.” Holt repeated, awestruck. “I'm going back to my country. It’s just like I dreamed . . . I gotta go get everything ready, I gotta pack, I gotta tell _Jackson_ . . .”

“How?” Heath asked, obviously forgetting that Holt’s dual nature was a secret.

Holt shot a warning look at his cousin. “I’ll just talk to him when I see him. He’s coming with us, he probably just won’t be around much at all. Now, c’mon guys, we gotta get ready!”

———

The queen’s court let out a collective gasp as Holt walked into the room, his circus following close behind. Even the queen herself wore an expression of shock when Holt stepped up to her throne and bowed deeply.

“You must be Hyde.” she spoke up, breaking the silence.

“Holt Hyde, that’s me.” He pulled off his top hat, exposing his fiery hair. “You want us to perform for you tonight?”

“Yes sir. And who are _these_ people? Are they all part of your show?”

Holt straightened up from the bow, sweeping his hand out to introduce the cast of performers around him. “Oh yeah, they’re the ones who are gonna perform for you. And this is my partner, Heath Burns. My other partner is Jackson Jekyll, my brother, but he’s . . . uh, not here right now.”

The queen’s advisor spoke up, “Interesting. The queen will need to be speaking with you in private, Hyde.” It was obvious he wasn't really giving Holt a choice. His tone implied that Holt was better than the “freaks” and needed to be separate from them to have an actual conversation. 

Hmm . . . that sounded familiar. 

He remembered sneaking out of bed as a child, only to overhear his aunt insist that “we can’t invite Jane and Jackson” to a family gathering. And he knew exactly what that meant. Not only was he being excluded for his dual nature, something he had no means of controlling, but by her only saying “Jackson”, his whole identity was being erased. 

Holt cringed, remembering. No way was he better than the others; in fact, he was _way_ weirder than some of them. If _only_ he could tell everyone else . . . he would finally fit in somewhere. Finally be able to be himself without worrying about what anyone else would say.

But he couldn’t. If he did, he would lose everything.

“That won’t be necessary.” the queen said. “I find his, ah, _circus_ charming. In fact, I am highly excited for his performance.”

“Thanks, your highness.” Holt put the hat back on his head, desperately hoping his relief wasn't written all over his face. “I'm sure we’re gonna be as good as you hope.”

An announcer spoke up from the entrance, “Your highness, I apologize for interrupting, but I must introduce your other visitor.”

The queen nodded. “Yes, send her in.”

The announcer cleared his throat. “May I introduce to you, Miss Operetta Phantom, The French Nightingale.” 

Someone about Holt’s age walked into the room, her long white dress trailing behind her and her bright red hair pulled up into an intricate style. She glanced around the room, smiling faintly through red-lipsticked lips. There was something about her . . . it was as if she took over the whole room with just her presence. 

Operetta curtsied upon seeing the queen. “Your highness.”

“Holt.” Heath snapped his fingers, attempting to get his cousin’s attention. “You zoned out for a second.”

Ignoring everything Heath said, Holt stuck his hand out to the opera singer. “I’m Hyde. Holt Hyde.” 

Recognition dawned on her face. “Oh, the showman. I’ve heard of your circus.”

“Have you? Well, let me tell you something, you should perform one of your songs in America. You could make a lotta money that way.”

“But you haven’t heard me sing.” Operetta retorted, seemingly amused.

“Oh, but I’ve heard rumors, and I’ve gotta say, your reputation is just so good, I’m willing to let you perform at Hyde’s American Museum based on that. Trust me, people would come, and your fame would only increase.”

“Alrighty then. I’ll come back with you, so long as you don’t mind.”

“Not a bit.”

“Sounds good to me. See you at your show then, Hyde.” She walked off, casually socializing with a member of the queen’s court. Holt stared after her. A legend like that, performing in _his_ building . . . he could already see the crowds, money, and positive newspaper headlines. 

“Holt!” Heath repeated. “Dude, you need to stop doing that. We have to leave and get ready for our show tonight.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Holt shook off his stupor, turning away from the opera singer to face his cousin. His circus had to come first, Operetta’s performance later. “Let’s go.”


	7. Never Enough

“See, you've already gotta huge crowd.” Holt told Operetta, as they stood backstage of Hyde’s American Museum, preparing for her to perform. He motioned at the masses of people, even though they could barely be seen from behind the curtain. Just the air of excitement from the building was enough to show how many people wanted to see The French Nightingale sing.

“I do see. That’s a lotta people, Hyde. You weren’t wrong.”

“C’mon Operetta, you can just call me Holt.”

She rested a hand on his shoulder, making his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Alrighty then, _Holt_.”

Elsewhere, the rest of the circus had gathered in a small standing room, dressed up for the performance. 

Heath stood next to Abbey, his hands at his side. The yeti ghoul was standing with her brother, looking fairly awkward in such an elegant setting. Her dress was shades of green and blue, looking magnificent with her natural sparkle. Oh, how he wanted to reach over and take her hand, even if it would be much colder than he was used to, being a fire elemental. But he worried she wouldn't let him.

Just as he decided he wouldn’t dare, the curtains onstage parted. The red gave way to a bright, shimmering white as Operetta walked out, looking gorgeous once again. The crowd cheered and clapped.

She opened her mouth and began to sing, her voice rivaling that of an angel. It was almost hypnotizing, the way she sang and made it impossible for people to tear their eyes away. And most of all, she sounded just as beautiful as she looked.

As she reached the middle of the song, Heath worked up his courage to slip his hand into Abbey’s, despite his better judgement. She glanced up, not meeting his eyes. He'd done something wrong, he knew it. 

Just as he decided he'd made a mistake, she closed her fingers around his hand. 

Backstage, Holt was completely frozen, his expression a permanent smile. He couldn’t help it, she was just _that good_ . . . and with his help, could bring in a lot of money and fame. If she would agree to put on several more shows, there was no telling the amount of money he could receive.

Spectra Vondergeist was in the audience, writing down notes. Still, rather than looking bored as she usually did at the circus, she was completely entranced, her face lit up. And she usually _hated_ Holt and everything that went on in Hyde’s American Museum.

Back in the audience, Heath glanced around, and almost immediately wished he hadn’t. Right in the theatre box above them were _his parents_ . What if they noticed him? If they saw him there, holding hands with a yeti, their reaction certainly wouldn't be positive. Still, it was _his_ life. 

He resolved to just forget about his parents, to tell them he didn't care if they didn't approve, until he made eye contact with Holt from the side of the stage. The showman nodded, prompting Heath to nod back weakly. 

Seeing Holt reminded him of something. Holt and Jackson had been disowned simply for their dual nature, which they didn't decide. If Heath actually _chose_ to be with someone his parents didn't approve of, there was no telling now badly they would react.

There was nothing else to do except—

Abbey barely flinched when he pulled his hand away. Almost as if she was used to it, as if she didn’t care. The guilt from that thought began to fill his head, but he ignored it to the best of his ability. _It's for the best, Heath._

Operetta finished off the song, her final words echoing throughout the room. The audience burst into applause. Holt joined her onstage, making everyone clap harder. 

It seemed as if everyone, even Spectra Vondergeist, had enjoyed the show. And Holt couldn't be more overjoyed.


	8. This Is Me

The party after the show was a hit. Every audience member wanted to talk to Holt, and more importantly to them, Operetta. As much as Holt desired it, he wasn't the incredibly famous one yet.

“Excuse me.” A man in a neatly pressed suit tapped Holt on the shoulder. Bright fiery hair, red eyes, yellow skin . . . Holt hadn’t seen him in years, but he could never forget this man.

Holt felt his expression harden. “Father.” 

“Oh, it's you. Holt Hyde. You’re so . . .”

“So what? So different than you? I bet you’re glad I look different, that way no one’s gonna know we’re related.”

The man’s face blanched slightly. “I was going to say ‘successful’. You've come so far from when I saw you last.”

“Really. Does it make you wish you hadn’t sent Jackson and me off to a factory the minute Mom died? We had to steal bread and live in an old abandoned house, basically orphans with no one to rely on but each other.”

Holt’s father leaned in closer. “We can talk about this later.” he hissed.

“Or we can talk about it never.” Holt snapped, turning away. “I never wanted to see you again, and that hasn't changed just ‘cause I run a circus. Now lemme go enjoy my party.”

Holt moved away from his father, who was left speechless, only to see the circus performers entering the party room. No! If they were at the party, what was Operetta gonna think? That he just hung out with them, not socializing with the more _respectable_ members of society?

He was no freak. 

Clawdeen led the group, almost like a pack, and Holt met her right at the door. “What’re you doing here?” he demanded.

“We’re coming to join the party.”

“Uh, that’s not a good idea.”

“Why not, _Hyde_?” Toralei asked, narrowing her eyes. “You’re not _ashamed_ of us, are you?”

Holt shook his head aggressively, but he fully knew his face told a different story. “No, not at all! I just gotta be here all by myself, I hope you understand. Sorry ‘bout that. See ya later.” 

The door slammed in her face, but Clawdeen stood there, unmoving.

“Clawdeen?” Clawd asked. Without answering, she turned on her heel and headed outside, into the snow. The rest of the group followed close on her heels.

Back in the party, Holt and Operetta were talking to some of the members of the audience, speaking in detail of the American tour they were planning. “Oh yeah, this show was one of the best performances I’ve done.” Operetta insisted, speaking to one of the well-off members of the community.

Holt cut in, “Oh, but every show is your best.” As the words left his lips, he realized two things. One: the band had long since stopped playing. And two: his feet were on fire.

Without a second thought, Holt fled the room. He ran down the hallway, even as he couldn’t feel his legs any longer, even as someone called his name behind him. The fire crept up his legs, his arms, taunting him. He was barely able to make it outside before his fiery hair and new facial tattoo were replaced by blond bangs and glasses. 

Jackson glanced around, observing his new surroundings. It was dark, almost pitch black, and he was standing right outside Hyde’s American Museum. The snow falling from the sky stung his bare shoulders, making him shiver. Why hadn't Holt mentioned they wouldn't be at home that night? Jackson would've changed into something warmer and more extravagant if he had known.

A party was in full swing inside, and from disjointed memories, he could figure out that it was due to some opera singer. Someone from inside the building called out, “Hyde! Come ‘ere!” Jackson hesitated, unsure. If someone was looking for Holt, it would be so easy to just walk back in, to convince the band to play again, to be Holt again, because everyone liked Holt more anyway. No one wanted Jackson at their parties; he was just the “weird one”, not quite a monster and not quite a normie. Nothing.

But something stopped him. A voice that came from around the corner, the voice of one of Holt’s circus performers. Jackson peered around the corner, back against the wall, listening to what she had to say.

Meanwhile, Clawdeen stood facing the others, her face bearing what she hoped was an expression of determination. “I’m not going to let him get to me. You guys are used to this too, right? Being cast out for being different? Being treated by everyone, even our own families, as lesser?”

“Am very used to it.” Abbey stated, casting a disparaging glance at Hyde’s American Museum. Her brother nodded his agreement.

“Yeah, how come they get to treat us like this?” Clawd demanded. “All my life, it’s been the same thing. Being treated as a freak.”

“It’s not fair.” Toralei added, her face looking more annoyed than angry. “How come Hyde, who does _nothing_ , gets to live his life luxuriously while we, the ones in the circus, have to stay outside?” The twins meowed their agreement. 

A new, high-pitched voice spoke up. “Yeah, it isn’t fair. He’s treating everyone that way. Even his own _family_.”

Clawdeen glanced over the group of circus performers to see who had spoken. It was Jackson Jekyll, Holt’s brother, wearing less than elegant clothing and shivering. Had Holt given him none of his earnings go buy nice clothes? Or at least a winter coat?

“Jackson? What are you doing here?” Deuce asked, taking off his own overcoat and handing it to the normie, who gratefully accepted it. “Why aren't you with Holt?”

“He kicked me out. Kind of.” Jackson confessed. “No one wants me in there either.”

“Did you hear that?” Clawdeen demanded to the others, fury welling up inside. “Holt Hyde doesn't care about any of us, not even his own brother. In fact, no one in there,” she jerked a thumb toward the building, “cares about us.”

“Yeah! No one cares.” Clawd agreed, catching her enthusiasm. “We're, like, nothing to them.”

“But I don't care.” Clawdeen finished. “It doesn't matter if they accept me or not, this is who I am and they've gotta deal with it. This is _me_.”

A cheer resounded from the performers, plus Jackson. 

Hours later, the whole circus had begun to sing during their performance, Clawdeen leading the song. Jackson was no longer there, but every other person who had joined her was right there, together in solidarity. Everyone showing that they didn’t care what the world thought of them.

Abbey glared up at Heath as she sang, prompting him to turn away, mentally kicking himself. How could he have been so _dumb_? He didn’t care what his parents thought of him, it was Abbey he wanted to please. And now he had totally messed up.

As the song wrapped up, Clawdeen stared out over the crowd, a look of determination filling her expression once again. “ _This is me_!”


	9. Rewrite The Stars

“Hi, am here for ticket?” Abbey said, approaching the ticket booth of the local theater. At the bewildered expression on his face, she added, “Holt Hyde was leaving a ticket for me?”

The ticket taker nodded and handed her an envelope. 

Abbey pulled it open, only to find two tickets, one extra. “Sir, am only needing one—”

“No, it’s fine. That one’s for me.” Heath announced, coming up behind her. Before Abbey could protest, he added, “Please just give me another chance. I’m really sorry about that night—you’re like, the coolest ghoul I’ve ever met.”

Abbey considered this for a second, biting her lip. Finally, she spoke, “Fine, Heath Burns.” As they headed up the stairs to the theater, she told him, “Have never been to the theater before. This is first time.”

“Really? I mean, you’re gonna love it.”

A stream of people headed down the other side of the staircase as Heath and Abbey walked up. They simply ignored the others, even when the people were gaping at the two of them together, until—

“Heath?”

Heath turned, only to come face-to-face a couple standing on the opposite side of the stairs. “Mom? Dad?”

“We were just on our way out.” his father spoke, narrowing his eyes at Abbey. “Why are _you_ here with _her_?”

“This is Abbey Bominable, and I work with her.” Heath snapped. Before his father could even reply, Abbey spun on her heel and dashed down the stairs, out the door, and into the night. Heath called after her, but she didn’t return.

His mother broke the silence, saying, “Son, it’s essential that you don’t associate with—”

“No, I don't care what you _think_ I should do. Yeah, I work at the circus with your disowned nephew and two yetis, so what? This circus has been one of the greatest things I've ever done, and Abbey is one of my favorite people there. If you'll excuse me, I gotta go find her.” Heath ran back down the stairs, leaving his parents gaping. 

But Abbey was gone.

He dashed back to Hyde’s American Museum, feet pounding on the cement ground. She had to be there, she _had_ to. If she wasn't . . .

But she was there, having changed into more comfortable clothes, and preparing to practice her trapeze act. Holt was absent, currently preparing to go on a tour with Operetta. No other circus performers were there either. It was just the two of them.

“Look, I'm sorry about them. My family can be weird.” Heath shifted his feet, trying not to look too awkward. “But I still want to spend time with you. Like I said, you're the coolest—”

“Is not going to work.” Abbey cut in. “I am liking you, but we . . . very different. We from separate worlds, and no coming together.”

“But you _want_ us to be together, even though you're saying that we can't. Who says we can't change that?”

“Are making it sound easy.” Abbey retorted, climbing onto her trapeze hoop. She dropped a bag of sand to the ground, letting the hoop shoot to the ceiling. Within seconds, Heath could no longer tell where she was.

“It is easy!” he called after her. “So my parents said we can’t be together, big deal! It’s not up to them, it’s up to you and me.”

She reappeared, balancing precariously on a ledge. “It is ‘big deal’. Inside building, we are the same, but outside, is very different. Is not up to us, is up to world. And world says ‘no’.” 

She swung down on a rope, landing next to him. Seconds later, she had dropped the sandbag again and rose to the top of a second rope. Heath watched in awe as she twisted herself around the rope, making her way down.

When she hit the ground, he caught the end of the rope and pulled the sandbag down, just as she had done. He began to rise. At the last minute, Abbey grabbed onto his shoulders, making them reach the ceiling together. She pushed off against the wall, making them twirl around rapidly. Heath began to feel dizzy, but held on tight. 

Abbey finally spoke. “Is impossible.”

“No, it’s not!”

“How?”

Heath was silent.

The two of them dropped to the ground. Abbey looked directly into his eyes, her expression mournful. “I would like us being together, but is not our choice. I am sorry, Heath Burns.” 

Before Heath could even reply, she had let go of the hoop and walked away, leaving the room. It was obvious that she wanted that to be her final say.

“Abbey!” he called after her, but there was no response.


	10. Tightrope

“Well, I’m off on tour!” Holt announced. “You’ll do fine running the circus, trust me.”

“But it won’t have your signature touches.” Heath protested, even as he took the cane from his cousin’s hand. “This is your circus.”

“And you’re my partner! C’mon Heath, you’ve got this. Besides, I’m gonna make it big with Operetta’s gorgeous voice on my side.”

“You already have a better house, a successful circus, and have had one of the greatest musicians ever perform in your museum. What more could you want?”

Holt’s entire demeanor changed in that instant, from cheerful to furious. “What would you understand? You grew up rich and _wanted_ by your family! You have _no idea_ what it’s like to need money or attention!”

Heath went silent for a moment, completely solemn. “Enjoy your tour, Holt.”

“I will.” Holt was calm again, but his mood had permanently changed. 

———

The music player that was always on skipped several times, right before stopping permanently.

In his sleep, Holt shifted, subconsciously feeling uncomfortable but not sure why. Something was happening. It was waking him up, though he didn’t know what “it” was, only that his bed was suddenly a lot warmer, like there was some sort of fire . . .

Jackson sat up, smacking his head on the top of the bed. He rubbed his pounding head, glancing around the room. Where was he? And why? Well, he knew it was Holt, it was always Holt. Except this time . . . Jackson flipped through the calendar on the wall. It had been _six weeks_ since he had been in control.

Like a rush of wind, disjointed memories floated through his head, ones he hadn’t made. Holt, well, the point of view of Holt. Operetta, always by his side. Watching performances backstage. Sitting in theaters. Riding in a carriage. Earning money, lots and lots of money.

Not a single thought of Jackson. Or the circus.

In shock, Jackson stood up and slipped into a pair of Holt’s dress shoes, pulling a velvet blanket around his neck. He hadn’t seen the world in six weeks, so it was definitely time to get out in some way. He tried the door knob. Locked for some reason, probably security.

But there was more than one way to leave.

Jackson pulled on the window and let it slide open, accompanied by a gust of wind. He crawled onto the roof and stood. The cold night air stung his shoulders, making him shiver. Once again, Holt hadn’t specified what to wear, so he was left in thin, slightly worn clothing. 

He climbed onto the edge of the roof, the city far below the tall building. He wasn’t afraid of heights. Well, he never really had been, but even though Jackson Jekyll was known for being the “safe side”, his cautious self was masked by the rush he felt at being let out. Even for just a night.

Carefully stepping from brick to brick, he made his way along the edge of the roof. Some sort of haze clouded his vision . . .

Suddenly, it wasn’t just Jackson on the roof, but Holt too, pulling him onward while walking backwards. The bricks had become a wobbly tightrope, like something that could be found in Holt’s circus. but neither was falling. Holt’s hand was clasped tightly around Jackson’s, keeping his other half safe from danger, but also showing him the way. Jackson stumbled, but he knew he wouldn’t fall. He trusted Holt.

Jackson blinked, and Holt and the tightrope disappeared. 

Of course. It was impossible for them to both be there. This was obviously just some sort of hallucination from not being in control for so long. Jackson reasoned. After all, they tended to act a bit odd when not in control for more than a day or so. Or maybe delirium from lack of sleep, as Holt barely slept.

But no matter the reason, Jackson still knew what it meant. 

He missed Holt.

No, not like that, he knew they would always be together. They shared a body, after all. What he meant was that he missed the _old_ Holt, the one who would reassure him with sweet notes and would find old books for him to pore through in their abandoned house. The one who raised money so they could go to America for a better life. His best friend, _that’s_ the Holt he missed.

Against his better judgement, Jackson found himself feeling agitated. What about Holt’s promise for “a better world for both of them”? They had all they needed now, they would _live_ and be _happy_ . . . Holt just had developed a one-track mind, only caring about money and fame. Jackson knew it was true; they shared a _brain_ , after all.

Sunlight peeked over the tops of the city buildings. Morning. Time to get back inside, to fix the music player, and to lie down before Holt even realized they had transformed. Holt had a performance to attend that day. And his career was the most important thing in their life, way more important than Jackson’s own enjoyment or being in control.

He crawled back in through the window, started up the music player, and climbed back into Holt’s luxury bed, hoping to get a little sleep before the big performance. After all, he still cared about Holt. 

Even if Holt didn’t care about him anymore.


	11. Fire!

Another show, finished. Not successful, but at least it was done. Heath wiped his brow, exhausted. How Holt did this, he would never know. 

And Holt was the one who took care of the hecklers.

They would come after every show and yell at the performers, shout insults, and even try to get physical at times. Several of the circus members had almost gotten followed home, before Heath stopped them. And he was always so worried it would get worse.

Tonight, however, it seemed like the hecklers weren’t coming to the show. That should’ve been a good thing, but it didn’t seem to lighten Heath’s mood. He wasn’t sure exactly _why_ , but everything was weird and awkward now. 

The crowds were small tonight; had been since Holt left. Everyone who was there seemed to enjoy the show, but again, it didn’t help. The performers seemed to notice it too, as no one seemed to care as much as they used to about their acts. 

Heath had caught Abbey’s eyes in the middle of her act. Her expression seemed to match his mood. And the mood of the whole circus.

And now, he was starting to realize what was so wrong.

He missed Holt.

And Jackson, who deserved more credit. And the roaring crowds. And Holt’s elaborate costumes. And the critic’s angry reviews that he and Holt had laughed over. And their pyrotechnics, that he and Holt had done with their own elemental powers. 

He missed what the circus had been.

“Hey!” someone screeched, making Heath turn. It was an angry-looking man, a mob of people behind him. The hecklers were here, just late. “Freaks! You’re all freaks of nature! Ya shouldn’t be part of society, with us normal folks!”

“I need to ask you to leave.” Heath spoke up, but it didn’t stop anything. He didn’t have Holt’s temper that always seemed to scare the mob of hecklers away. Nothing he said seemed to make an impact.

Abbey’s brother, Iceic, approached the mob, glaring. “Go away.”

The man spat back, “You go away first, _freak_!” 

Iceic swung his fist, and it made contact with the man’s face. The man fell to the ground, doubling over in pain.

A pause. 

And then the mob overwhelmed the building, trashing their circus. Several men jumped on Iceic and one on Heath. His attention was focused on getting away, not getting hurt, not letting _Abbey_ get hurt . . .

Heath saw the men sneaking away, just barely. But someone else jumped him, making Heath have to take his eyes off the other men to avoid the punches aimed towards his face. He finally got away, making him pause briefly to catch his breath.

And then the building went up in flames.


	12. Never Enough (Reprise)

“We’ve gotta great show goin’ on, don’t we now?” Operetta announced, settling onto the couch next to Holt.

“Uh, yeah.” Holt turned away, focusing his attention on the portrait of himself on the wall of their rented room. He wasn’t used to seeing a portrait of just him, as the only portrait he had of himself before was always combined with a portrait of Jackson, one of them on either side. Now it was just him. Alone.

“What’s wrong with ya?” Her bright red hair shone in the sunlight. “We’ve gotta show coming up. You better be perkin’ up before then.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Truth he told, he had no idea what was wrong.

“Good. Cause we gotta talk about _us_.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, us. You’re always so _entranced_ during my performances, I’m thinkin’ you’re feelin’ the same way I am. That you and me, we could be a thing.” She moved closer to him on the couch, but he barely noticed.

“A thing?” He was hardly paying attention to her at this point, so caught up in trying to figure out why he felt so _weird_. Something was wrong, but he just couldn’t tell what. If he knew, he could fix it . . .

“Yeah, Holt, keep up. You and me, we could be together, cause I know you want us to. I can tell.”

 _Oh._ That’s what she meant _._

“Oh—you think—you think we’re—we’re not.” Holt stammered. “I mean, I like you a lot, but not like . . .”

“Then why act like it?” Operetta demanded, her expression a mask of fury. “Ya were leading me on, acting like we’re a couple or somethin’, and now all you care about is _yourself_!”

“That’s not true!” Holt snapped, standing up. But her words repeated themselves, over and over again in his head. _All you care about is yourself._

“Oh, it’s true alright! You _were_ flirtin’, doncha remember the party? The one after my first performance?”

He racked his brain, trying to come up with what she could be possibly talking about. He had been Jackson for most of it, so there hadn’t been a lot of time to talk to her. Was it when he said every show was her greatest? That was just a compliment, nothing more. “How could I be flirting? I wasn’t even _there_ most of the time.”

Ignoring his question, Operetta said, “I’m gonna go. Tour’s over.” She stood up, gathering her dress, and began towards the door. No! If she left now, no one would ever take him seriously. He had to finish the tour, he just _had_ to.

“Operetta!”

She stopped, her back to him. “ _What_?”

“We—we have to finish the tour. People will be so disappointed if we stop now.” Holt heard the desperation in his own voice, but he didn’t try to hide it. “They’ll hate me and—”

“What do _I_ care if they’re gonna hate you?” 

“They won’t like you too much either. You’re the one they came to see, not me.”

She paused in the doorway, considering this. Holt couldn't see her face so he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Still, he found himself silently pleading she would stay.

“Fine.” she spoke, her tone sharp and cutting. “I’ll finish it. Now I gotta go get ready. See ya, _Hyde_.”

Even before she was out the door, Holt let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. It’s okay, it was gonna be okay. She said she’d finish the tour, so no big deal.

Something was still wrong, though.

———

Operetta had kept her promise. That day’s show had gone on as normal, with no indication that there had been any fight between the two of them. Well, almost.

She was almost done with her final song, beautiful as always, but there was an edge to her voice, as if she was trying not to cry. Holt felt slightly guilty, but he couldn’t help that he just didn’t think of her in that way. Wasn’t his fault.

She hit the last note and cut off sharply, signifying the end of the song. Everyone applauded. She deserved it; her voice really was amazing.

Time to go on stage.

Holt walked out, the bright lights of the theater shining down on him. Everyone applauded more as he took a sweeping bow, showing off his fancy, but not extravagant, outfit.

And then, without any warning, Operetta turned and kissed him.

Someone snapped a photo.

Holt barely had time to register what was happening before the audience cheered and clapped harder. The lights seemed to grow brighter, blinding him, making his head spin.

She had kissed him, when he clearly said he wasn’t interested. It was her payback for his rejecting her, he _knew_ it was. And now everyone thought they were a couple.

He rushed offstage. 

When Operetta finally found him, he was in his room, throwing his things into his trunks. She watched him for several minutes, and he ignored her, before she finally spoke. “What’re you doin’? You just left them—”

“Tour’s over.” Holt snapped, facing her. “I gotta go home.”


	13. Up In Flames

Hours later, Holt arrived back at the town, about a mile from Hyde’s American Museum. He paused for a minute, taking a breath before doing anything. After what had happened, he really needed a moment, 

Wait. Were those _sirens_? And the smell of smoke . . .

Holt ran towards Hyde’s American Museum as fast as his feet could take him. All the ways, he hoped as much as possible that it wasn’t his building, that the fact that trucks were heading in the direction of his building was just a coincidence. Maybe it was just one of the buildings next to his . . .

He came to a stop in front of Hyde’s American Museum. Or what was left of it, anyway.

The entire building was entrenched in flames, sending the walls and bits of the ceiling crashing down. The whole circus was evacuating quickly, carrying anything that they could hold. 

“Is everyone here?” Holt demanded. 

Everyone in the circus turned around to face him. “Hyde!” Clawdeen exclaimed, not looking particularly happy to see him, but not disappointed either. “Everyone’s here, I think.”

“Wait, Abbey’s not here!” a voice cried out, tinged with panic. Holt looked for where it came from, and caught sight of Heath dashing into the burning building. The elemental wasn’t going to be bothered by the flames, but with the crumbling walls and ceiling . . . Holt had less hope.

Heath couldn’t go in there alone. 

Holt ran after him. He was forced to ignore everything he had worked for, his whole life’s project, going up in flames. Watching his things burn wasn’t going to help him find Heath or Abbey.

“ _Hyde_!” someone shrieked from the doorway. Clawdeen was the one who had spoken, standing next to Iceic and . . . _Abbey_. “She’s here!”

Holt tried to respond, but it was if his throat had locked up. Not from the smoke, though, just the fact that Heath had gone in there for nothing, risking his life when Abbey was fine. He stood there for several seconds, unable to move.

Then he caught sight of Heath, sprawled on the ground.

Minutes later, Holt emerged from the building, carrying his cousin as carefully as he could. Heath had been crushed by a piece of the wall, and it looked like his lungs had collapsed or something similar. His face and legs were bleeding.

By this point, a medic had shown up, and Holt helped them get Heath into their vehicle so he could be taken to a hospital. Abbey stared in shock, a couple frozen tears trickling down her soot-covered face.

As the medics left, Holt turned back to the remains of his once-glorious building. This was it.

The circus was over.


	14. From Now On

The circus had burned down three days ago. Holt had been in the nearby diner, the very one he met Heath in, all morning. Just like the last two days. It’s not like he had anywhere else to go. Everything was gone. His fancy house, his wealth, his circus performers, everything. His cousin might not survive the injuries, and he had nowhere to sleep besides a bench in the park. Yeah, there was really nothing left.

The door to the diner opened and a mass of people filed in. One quick glance told Holt that it was his whole circus, probably coming for their final paychecks. He laid his head down to avoid looking at them, ‘cause it would just make it worse.

“If you’re here for money, go away.” Holt muttered, his voice muffled by his sleeves.

“Hyde, just forget about the money.” Clawdeen sat down on his left, but he didn’t move, or even look at her. “We want you to come back. Back to the circus.”

Holt sat up, only to see the entire circus, minus Heath and Abbey, standing right in front of him, their faces pleading. They couldn’t be serious. “Guys, no. The circus is _gone_. Okay? It’s over.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Deuce said, sitting on his other side. “Hyde, the circus is like our family. We don’t have anywhere else. But you, you gave us a place to be, a place where we can be ourselves.”

“ _It’s gone_.” Holt snapped, his angry tone turning into a sob. Hopefully no one heard that. If anyone knew he was upset by . . . well, he couldn’t tell why it upset him so much. It wasn’t really about the money, it was more about . . . the people?

Yes! 

That was it. It wasn’t the fame or fortune he had craved for so long, it was a _family_. And since his birth family wasn’t a place he could go to, the circus took that role in always being there for him, and he was there for them. 

Until he wasn’t.

“You know what?” Holt stood up, drawing the attention of the performers. “I just learned something. Everyone was behind me when I was successful, but as soon as I lost everything, they left. Not you guys though. Now I know who’s _really_ behind me, no matter what happens.”

“We’re with you.” Clawd confirmed, eliciting nods from the other performers.

Holt sighed, surveying the group. They all came here, just for _him_. 

“I can’t believe I left you guys to be with the rich people. That’s not me. From now on, I’m not gonna be distracted by _wealth_ or _fame_ , I’m just gonna stick with you guys, my _family._ ”

Clawdeen watched his face, hopeful. “Does that mean—”

“The circus is coming back.” Holt finished.

A cheer resounded among the performers.

Holt walked over to the wall, where a photo of him and Operetta hung over a framed copy of the newspaper that had the story of the kiss. Before, there had been a photo of him and the circus, and the portraits of him and Jackson. The old ones _had_ to be there somewhere.

Yes, the old pictures were still in the frames, just hidden by the new ones. Holt ripped out the pictures of him and Operetta in the height of fame, leaving photos of him and the people that really mattered: his circus. And Jackson.

Jackson!

Oh man, he had totally forgotten about Jackson. He had nearly forgotten why he constantly needed music playing; it was just a habit at this point. But now . . . Jackson was his family too. And he really needed to apologize to him for taking over his life, both metaphorically and physically.

And no more hiding his dual nature. Everyone could know, Holt didn’t care. It was who he was, so why should he hide it?

He flicked the switch off on the music player. 

That was plenty of time to write a short note. They could talk more later, but for now, it was both an apology and showing his secret. It needed to be short.

“Guys, I don't wanna keep secrets from you anymore.” Holt said, his hands shaking as he scribbled a note on a napkin. What if they reacted badly? What if they rejected him? It had happened before and it could totally happen again.

“ _Secrets_?” Toralei asked, eyes narrowing. “What kind of secrets?”

“You’ll see. If you’re mad at me, just don’t take it out on Jax. Please.” 

Holt took a few more minutes to write the note. Just as he finished, he caught sight of fire creeping up his legs. He was transforming. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the shocked faces of the circus performers.

Jackson woke up in the middle of a diner, standing in front of Holt’s whole circus, besides Heath and Abbey. Every single person there looked somewhat horrified, staring at him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that they were reacting to his transformation. And that he and Holt weren’t brothers, but the same person.

“You—you’re—” Clawdeen stammered.

“No!” Jackson burst out. “I mean, we’re— _I’m_ a shapeshifter. I’m still Holt Hyde, I’m just making myself look like my brother Jackson, who I am definitely not the same person as. Yeah.” 

“Uh huh. Sure.” Toralei rolled her eyes. “You’re a _really_ bad liar, Jackson.”

That was all it took. Jackson sank into a chair, burying his face into his hands. It was all it took for him not to burst into tears. Holt must’ve transformed by accident, and now that his circus knew their secret, his chances of staying with them were pretty much nonexistent. Holt would be so disappointed, and it was all Jackson’s fault again.

“I’m sorry.” Jackson mumbled. “I know you’re going to reject us now, just like everyone does, so I’m just gonna go . . .”

“Jackson, don’t leave!” Deuce said, moving in front of the door as if to block the normie from leaving. “We’re not rejecting you. So you and Holt are the same person, no big deal. I’ve seen weirder.”

“Me too.” Clawdeen agreed. “Oh, your, uh, _other side_ left you a note. It’s on the table.”

Jackson picked up the napkin covered in Holt’s messy scrawl. It read: 

“ _Hey Jax, I’m so so sorry about how I’ve been treating you. I can’t believe I never let you out for the past few months, like I couldn’t imagine not seeing the world that long. Stay in control as long you want, okay? I don’t have much money left, but use as much of it as you need to._

_I transformed in front of my circus so they could know about our dual nature ‘cause I’m done keeping secrets. Just letting you know that it wasn’t an accident, so don’t feel bad._

_I bet you’re totally mad at me, and you can be mad at me all you want. I just want you to know I’m really sorry and I wanna be friends again, like how we used to. But if you don’t want to, I guess I deserve that._

_-H.H._ ”

Jackson glanced up at the the circus performers, all of them carefully watching his expression. Waiting to see how he’d react. They likely had no idea what the note said, but they could probably guess.

He ignored them all, whispering to himself, as if Holt could hear his reply. “It’s alright. I forgive you, Holt.”

And in that moment, everything was okay.

———

Heath was still unconscious, healing from his various injuries in the nearby hospital. His parents likely didn’t even know he was there, but if they did, who knew if they would come see him. Holt had been unavailable for days, wallowing in his emotions, and Jackson obviously wasn’t able to come either. However, Abbey had been there every day to see him. 

Now, she clutched Heath’s outstretched hand tightly, sobbing icy tears. 

It was usually fairly hard for her to show emotion, not that she didn’t want to, but just that her mountain upbringing had trained her to act differently than most Americans. Especially since here, she was a sort of outcast among the others. But now she had temporarily abandoned all that, letting her emotions run free as she stood over Heath’s unconscious body.

It was _her_ fault, she just knew it. If she had come out of Hyde’s American Museum the same way as the others, Heath wouldn’t have run in after her, and then he wouldn’t be injured. If only she’d thought . . .

Now it might be too late. Too late to tell him what she really wanted.

No! She had to tell him. 

“Yes, I want to be together. We can rewrite stars.” Abbey whispered, holding his hand even tighter. When he didn’t show any sign of life, she hung her head, defeated.

Heath stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open.

“Cold.” he muttered.

Abbey straightened up, shocked by the sound of his voice. “Heath Burns! You are . . . are . . .” 

His voice, although weak, rang with a hint of laughter. “Alive? Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Without much hesitation, she leaned forward, and her lips met his. Except this time, there was no risk of what others thought on either side. The release of worrying about society’s opinions was like a shower of sparks, all of it being let go at once.

Nothing mattered except each other in that minute.


	15. Circus Redux

“This is worse than I thought.” Holt announced, surveying the ruined remains for his building. “There’s no way we’re gonna rebuild, we don’t even have the _money_ for that . . .”

“Come on, there must some be _something_.” Toralei lifted a ruined stage prop gingerly, but it crumbled to dust in her hands. “Never mind.”

“Must be something to do.” Abbey insisted. Her brother nodded his agreement.

Holt shrugged. “None of you have much money, and now Jackson and I don’t either. We can’t rebuild or buy new materials with no money. Besides, we can’t afford a new building anyway, and where are we gonna find a building that’s perfect for us like this one?”

“You make a fair point, Hyde.” Clawdeen said. The others murmured in assent.

Just as the circus performers were walking away in defeat, a voice rang out from over a pile of rubble, “Hey! You guys!” And then out walked a boy with fiery hair in a nice suit.

“Heath!” Holt cried, running to join his cousin. “Dude, I missed you so much! I thought you were gonna—”

“Die? Nah, I’m alright. And I think I’ve got the solution to your problem! Remember how we agreed I’d get 10% of the money you made? Well, I still have it. I’ve been saving it for a while now, and we have enough to restart the circus!”

“Heath, no. I can’t take your money.” Holt told him.

“Well, too bad, ‘cause you’re taking it. And we’re gonna use it to start the circus again. C’mon Holt, we all want you to.”

Holt glanced around, observing the faces of the others. Everyone seemed to be trying to act nonchalant, but he could tell that they wanted him to take that offer. Well, if Heath was offering, and it was unanimous . . .

“Alright. Let’s do it.”

A cheer rang up from the performers.

He continued, “And this time, I’m gonna be in it more. After all, ‘everyone has an act’.”

Heath and Abbey exchanged a smile, looking as if they wanted to laugh but were trying to hide it for now. They also looked a lot closer now. Holt wondered, had something happened between the two of them since the fire?

A thought crossed his mind like a shadow. “But there’s no way we can afford a building, or even find one like the one we had.”

“We don’t need a building.” Heath explained. “I thought about that too. We can just buy some cheap land and get a huge tent. It’s even better ‘cause we can set it up the way we want.”

Huh. That sounded pretty good.

Holt cleared his throat, making everyone turn back to face him. “That'll work just fine. Well, you guys, we’re officially ready to bring the circus back!”


	16. The Greatest Show

Time for their first _new_ show.

The circus had gotten a tent and a piece of land by the water, perfect for their needs. At the very least, Heath’s amount of money could afford it, plus all the required extras like props and costumes.

Holt had been kind of distant all day, standing at the edge of the cliff and staring out at the sea. No one wanted to bother him, so Heath took charge over getting everything ready for the show. 

And then it was showtime.

The tent was packed with an audience, eager to see the next of Holt Hyde after the fire. Everything was dark, simply just to add to the mystery of what was going to happen first. No one knew what to expect from the brand new circus.

At first, everything was dead silent.

Then someone spoke, his figure enshrouded in the darkness of the edge of the tent. “Ladies and gents, this is the moment you’ve waited for.” His voice was high, much higher than Holt’s usual vocal pattern.

Heath turned to Abbey as the audience cheered. “That’s not Holt.”

“Who is it?”

“I think . . . no, it couldn’t be. He can’t . . .” 

The figure spoke again, unmoving from his spot. “Been searching in the dark, your sweat soaking through the floor.” The music started up and he continued, speaking in time with the music as the beginning of a song, “And buried in your bones there’s an ache that you can’t ignore, taking your breath, stealing your mind, and all that was real is left behind . . .”

He finally stepped out from the darkness and into the spotlight, inciting gasps from the audience and the performers. Holt hadn’t told anyone he was doing this, but sure enough, at the edge of the tent stood Jackson, wearing a yellow replica of Holt’s stage coat and a top hat. The music must not have been the right speed to transform him, well, not yet.

“I knew it!” Heath whispered excitedly.

Jackson walked out into the center of the ring, playing up the drama of the moment. He gestured with his hands and highly exaggerated his facial expressions, just as Holt had done before. He looked like he was born to do so, and, Heath figured, that _had_ to be bits of Holt’s personality exposing itself.

And then someone raised the volume of the music . . .

Fire started at Jackson’s feet, flickering and glowing. He didn’t stop singing, however, but simply raised his voice to go with the song.

“It's fire, it's freedom, it's flooding open, it’s a preacher in the pulpit and you'll find devotion . . .”

Through the flames, his yellow and silver outfit was replaced by a bright red and gold one. Jackson took off his glasses and slipped them in his pocket just as his blue eyes turned red.

“There's something breaking at the brick of every wall it's holding, all that you know . . .”

His black and blond hair changed to a fiery red as his white skin turned blue. As the transformation was completed, Holt raised his head and looked upwards, smirking. 

“. . . so tell me do you wanna go?”

At his last word, the tent exploded into light. Spotlights illuminated the whole place, shining down on both the circus performers and the audience. That was their cue. 

The circus burst into life, every performer doing their individual act. Several performers became part of Holt and Jackson’s act, singing the song Holt wrote for the performance. After all, he had always been good at writing song lyrics, he just never had a chance to use them before.

“Colossal we come these renegades in the ring . . .” Holt walked front and center, facing the audience and enticing them with his expression. He led up the crown he had worn so long ago, the one that proudly stated “Prince of Humbug”, and slipped it on over his top hat. Several audience members laughed, but many cheered, knowing the context from his earlier shows. “. . . where the lost get found in the crown of the circus king!”

As the circus continued, Holt stepped back behind the scenes, where Heath was waiting. “Hey, after this show, the circus is all yours for a while, ‘kay?”

“What?” Heath stared blankly at his cousin. “You're leaving?”

“Just for a bit, not forever.”

“Well, how come? I'm not sure I can handle—”

“C’mon, you'll be _fine_. It's just . . . now that I've got my dreams, I just wanna let Jackson out for a while. He's always wanted to get more of an education or something, and I already told him he could after we do this show. So we'll be in London for a year or two.”

Heath gasped. “Wow, really? That’s—that’s really sweet. I’ll handle the circus ‘till you’re back.”

“Thanks Heath, now let’s go finish this.” 

Holt abandoned the curtain, bursting out as the song reached a peak. Heath followed suit, and together, the two of them each lit a torch on fire from across the room, the fire bellowing over the performance.

“It’s everything you ever want . . .” Holt began, approaching the crowd head-on again. The thought struck him as he did so, that he had never felt a deep connection like this before, at least, not since his mother. These performers, this circus, was more than just people who worked for him. They were his new family. And Heath was ready to support him in any way he could, just like a family member should, and as for Jackson . . . strangely enough, the more Holt connected to his alter ego, the more he felt like himself.

“This is where you want to be!” Clawdeen finished, interrupting his train of thought. Not that he minded. The circus had to go on.

“When it's covered in all the colored lights, where the runaways are running the night . . .” Holt, along with the rest of the group, began. By this point, the audience was entirely amazed, so much that their faces were permanently fixed in shocked expressions. And he knew why. Now that he was doing what he wanted to do, to be with the people he enjoyed the company of instead of the rich people who didn’t “get” his lifestyle and upbringing, his show was even more spectacular. And he knew it would be for years to come.

Holt also didn’t fail to notice how Abbey and Heath clasped hands as they sang the lines, “'Cause everything you want is right in front of you, and you see the impossible is coming true, and the walls can't stop us now!” There was obviously something going on between the two of them, and he almost felt a twinge of joy, knowing they never would’ve met without him. His circus brought people together, as it should . . . just like it brought him and Jackson even closer.

So the next line of the song were even more personal for him, as he concluded the show with: “Oh, this is the greatest show!”

And this time he truly believed it.


End file.
